


my momma was a shopaholic unlike any other

by bluecircus



Category: Original Work
Genre: Idk how to describe this, Other, literally shop till you drop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 09:40:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18247250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluecircus/pseuds/bluecircus
Summary: "our best customer," that's what everyone said, at the burial. it was probably good that her sorry ass died there anyway, cause then i got to sue then and pay back 1% of the debt she'd made. it even covered the funeral costs- not that i was planning on paying for her to be put in some fancy coffin anyway.





	my momma was a shopaholic unlike any other

my momma was a shopaholic unlike any other; the bitch was never home, always out at the mall, which was only a few minutes walk away from our door because she insisted that we live as close to it as possible. i don't know when it began exactly; all i remember is that sometime after my dad died, one day she waltzed into the big doors of that cursed building and never came back out of it. bodily, she still came home every night when it closed, still got out of bed and somehow cooked up some breakfast, but in the spirit, she was always there, always walking between the aisles, always feeling some fabric in her hands, or trying on some earrings, or camping out in some trial room. 

 

for the most of seventh grade, she had the sense to write me down little post-its telling me where she was going, but then these eventually reduced before stopping entirely by the end of eighth grade. not that it made a difference, because i always knew where she was; i always heard her as she walked in, the crisp new shopping bags hitting the door frame and the dull sound they made as she set them down on the table. she'd then tiptoe over in her new high heels and peek into my bedroom; once she had bought my act of pretending to be asleep, she walked back out onto the dining table, sobbing her eyes out, banging her hands and head on the table, like the weak bitch she always was, as she opened her bags. this would go on for another hour or so before she would pass out on the dining table. then at precisely 4:30, she would rise up as if she was on autopilot, grab her new belongings and shove them into some corner of her closet before collapsing on her bed. 2 hours later, she would pretend to wake up, beam at me and greet me a good morning, before cooking up some of her damned scrambled eggs.

 

the money, oh the  _money._  she sent millions of dollars down the drain in her lifetime; at first she was living off my dad's life insurance, and then when that was gone, she used up her savings, my college funds- and then she dipped into a debilitating debt. she knew what she was doing-  _i_  knew what she was going, i saw every single one of those bank letters that she hid in our kitchen drawer, and after she died, all of the receipts she stuffed under her mattress. 

 

i wondered how she was even alive; all she did was buy and buy and buy. and when she got bored, she'd sit at some restaurant and stuff her face till she couldn't move. the day she died, she'd stuffed herself with slushies until her old body couldn't take it anymore and she puked her guts out before passing out in the bathroom. the mall closed for the day and then, the cctv caught her crawling out of the stall, before falling flat on her face and shaking through a heart attack.

 

 

"our best customer," that's what everyone said, at the burial. it was probably good that her sorry ass died there anyway, cause then i got to sue then and pay back 1% of the debt she'd made. it even covered the funeral costs- not that i was planning on paying for her to be put in some fancy coffin anyway.

 

the only reason i'd even showed up the occasion that day was to fake out some tears to make my sorrow seem legitimate when i took it to court with the mall authorities a week later. nearly poked myself in the eye trying to squeeze those tears out; she was so weak, so  _weak._  can't feel bad about something when you know it's going to happen. but i'd always figured it'd go down in a more humiliating way, like slitting her wrists open in a bathtub, drowning in her hundreds of dollars worth of lush products. the blood would bubble and fizz with the bathbombs and mix with the colours while she sobbed to her death. and then i would rise up from my fake slumber and check if she'd finally died, before ringing 911 and pretending to have a panic.

**Author's Note:**

> this is highkey super edgy and cringy but that could just be me


End file.
